"The bars on Eighth Avenue in Harlem
glow real yellow, hard against formica
tables. They speak of wandering ghosts
and Harlem saints; the words lay slick
and greasy floors: rain-wet butt in the junkie's
mouth, damp notebook in the number runner's hand.
no heads turn as the deal goes down - we wait."

"Harlem Gallery: From the Inside" by Larry Neal